Onwards from Shining Oslo

As a multidisciplinary artist and writer, the directional flow of my creative work shifts across mediums. Sometimes my narrative writing flows, other times painting or drawing flows, and sometimes it’s poetry or songwriting that flows. Right now, though, the flow I am most interested in is the flow of being present in my experiences. So, I am going to keep this relatively brief and take my time in catching up.

I’m writing this entry from Arlanda Airport in Stockholm, Sweden, after a little over a week exploring Stockholm and Gothenburg, by way of a short stop over on the island of Galtö. But before crossing over into Sweden, I spent a few sweet and bright final days in Oslo Norway, where the sunny streak continued. 

Oslo on the day I first arrived

A view from the top of the Munch Museum

In the airport, I hear the word "Oslo" over the loudspeaker and it hits me with endorphins like the squeeze of a strong hug from a loved one. Hearing the word or seeing it on signage now at a distance from the place fills me with warmth. It also somehow harkens to a deep, elemental memory: as a young child, laying in bed at my grandparents’ lakehouse, watching the light of the early morning sun on the lake dancing on the ceiling. I remember lingering in bed, my mind wheeling with stories and creative ideas in the delicious moments right after dreaming. The memory of this visual has always signified possibility, imagination, and feeling comfy and at home with myself. Now, I find that this memory feels connected to, and layered upon with different vantages of the light glimmering on Olso’s harbor waters.  

The first stays in Oslo were a marked by taking in museums-- the Munch Museum, which I found to be a bit overrated and wasteful, simultaneously autere and extravagant in terms of its design and layout, and the completely epic and wonderfu National Museum, where I could have moved in and spent weeks looking, drawing, and painting diverse objects from the collection and exhibitions. I took saunas, and enjoyed live music, leisurely meals and a couple of excellent cocktails out on the town. I also jetted by ferry to the nearest fjord island of Hovedølya for a sunny hike. On from there, I experienced time with family in Kongsberg, and my cross country train experience, as you can read about in previous entries.

One of the floating saunas in Oslo, facing the Opera and Munch Museum

One of the thousands of collection works on display at the National Museum

A ruin on the island of Hovedøya

My final few days in the Oslo were spent connecting with friends. Notably, a Norwegian-American woman named Andrea who is a few years older than me, whose parents were close with mine 30 years ago and whose brother was best friends with my oldest brother for some years. Her family moved to the suburbs of NYC in the early nineties and our families connected as odd duck international people. Our moms famously enjoyed cross country skiing together on a snow day when school was canceled. When I visited with the family, her mom laughed, recalling that as a Norwegian, she did not understand that school could possibly be canceled for a “snow day.” The designation was more than celebratory recognition of a giant snowfall, as she learned when she tried to drop her children off at the shuttered elementary school.  Our parents’ weekend dinners, in my memory, seemed to last all night and were full of boisterous laughter. 

Before my epic adventure in western and central Norway, I reconnected with the family when Andrea hosted me for a lovely traditional Norwegian dinner with her parents, brother, and some of their kids. Her mom made a traditional reindeer stew– a dish that was memorably delicious. The meat, unique– earthy and salty. The creamy base, bright and full of mushrooms and herbs. I’m only an occasional meat-eater, but I found myself craving reindeer stew with lingonberry as the days went by.

As we parted Andrea gifted me a ginormous chocolate bar of "Norway’s best chocolate," (a designation that I have to agree with) Freia Vollmilchschokolade, a treat that really added to my comfort in my travels across Norway.

After our dinner, Andrea extended an invite for me to stay with her family at their home on the edge of Holmenkollen in Oslo if I were to come back through the city in my travels. She added, “I’m not just being polite!” That did the trick. I am so glad that my plans included another swing through the city, and that I took her up on the offer. 

Staying with her and her family marked my third stay within Oslo. Select observations from the stay:

• Golden are the hosts who say “make yourself at home,” and mean it genuinely. Andrea and her husband are those people. They included me in family dinner, pancake breakfasts, and even showed me the candy stash. 

  
  

• All the Norwegians that I have been hosted by are the doting caretakers of very fluffy, stereotypically beautiful and friendly Norwegian cats. I’m amazed that I have no picture of sweet Evie the cat. 

  
  

• The home lattes that Andrea, her husband and eleven year old daughter made for me were some of the best I’ve ever had in my decades as a drinker of lattes. No exaggeration.

  
  

• The skiers who live in her neighborhood are pretty badass. I saw a few of them-- but first heard them-- swishing and scraping by on their rollerblade skis, training for ski season. 

  
  

• A wonderful part of getting older is to experience reconnection with people from previous phases in life. It’s a joy to discover, how, having lived vastly different lives, two people can come together as adults and share a special connection. Though I remembered her as an occasional babysitter, I’m delighted to now count Andrea as a friend. Some of our connection might have to do with a mutual fangirl fervor for the writings and research of Brené Brown (Stay awkward, brave and kind fo’ liiiife). Or maybe our mutual admiration for Brown just signifies our likenesses. Regardless, it was such a special treat to connect with this old friend who I feel like I’m just getting to know. 

Andrea and I on top of Homenkollen.

Andrea and her family made me feel so relaxed and at home and that comfort allowed me to dig into a few final adventures in the city within a very short time span. I took in the fabulous Ekebergparken Sculpture Park atop a mountain in the southwestern part of Oslo. I also spent a glorious afternoon at the Oslo Badstuforening Sauna— the most epic sauna I’d experienced up to that point. It is a collection of various constructions and styles of saunas, floating on a dock on the harbor with ladders into the water. One sauna even has a terrace on the roof, and a high jump, where I built upon my streak of brave jumps for a person who used to be scared of heights. I also walked to the U.S. Embassy, a short walk away from her house, and attempted to get some help with my absentee ballot for the upcoming U.S. Election. But that’s another story, and one that’s not all that fun to recount. No pun intended, there. 

Chloe by Jaume Plense

Drømmersken (Dreaming Woman) by Knut Steen

Before I left Oslo, Andrea and her husband took me to the top and ski jump at Holmenkollen, where I got to take in the breathtaking sight of the city and the fjords. As we hiked a short walk through the forest and looked down at the glittering water, they shared interesting tidbits of Norwegian history and culture with me. I learned that there’s an old Olympic bobsled track from the top of the mountain that one can sled down in the snow. I heard about a portrait of Norways’ Kong Olav, riding the tram to the mountaintop with the common people in order to go skiing. In fact, apparently a photo exists of the king with a random stranger who had fallen asleep on his shoulder. I learned about the preschool education of Andrea’s husband, which was at one of the forest schools that I noticed during my travels in Norway. There, without plastic dolls and legos, they learned to cultivate imaginative play and resourcefulness by playing outside. I also learned that in Norwegian, there are many words for “mountain,” kind of like the way Eskimos have a myriad of words for “snow.” 

The ski jump

Standing atop the mountain, my eyes welled up. For the first time in a long time, these weren’t tears of sadness, stress, or grief, but rather a rush of gratitude and upwelling of a kind of sentimentality, and of hope.

I was in part pulled to visit Norway because of my ancestor and namesake’s connection to the place. She chose Oslo as the city to start a new chapter in her life. I don’t know much about her time in Oslo except that she moved there to follow passionate love, had a family, and lived out her days as a person who shined as “her own woman.” And now, generations later, my relationship with this part of the world is only beginning. 

The view of the city and fjords from the mountaintop

What began for me as an extremely friendly and spontaneous invitation from my distant cousin to visit Kongsberg had turned into an epic adventure across several weeks and different cities and regions all over the southern part of the country— with the sun beaming along with me auspiciously just about the whole time. The more time I spent in Norway, the more rewarded I felt. Discoveries and stimulating synchronicities kept appearing around every mountain curve. And doors to new adventures were opening to me, some of which I could only glimpse through. But I was leaving with a sense that I will return. 

In one synchronistic turn of events, Andrea and her family were headed by car in the direction of Gothenburg, Sweden, my next destination, to Galtö, an island just over the border. They were heading there to close up the family cabin’s boats for the season. They kindly invited me to join them. 

I would have been transfixed by the family's fridge magnet collection as a child.

The word in Norwegian for kindred is “slekt,” and it feels appropriate for explaining how I felt in joining with the family for the start of their cozy cabin weekend. I can’t imagine a more comforting transition as I set out on the next leg of my journey. 

The young waffle entrepreneur/chefs.

The main cottage and sea inlet.

We arrived late in the afternoon, the low sun drenching the pine and birch forest and adjacent sea inlet in a gold and orange glow. Andrea’s kids and niece arrived the day before and had set up a waffle stand to welcome us. The girls only accepted pinecones as tender, which luckily, were abundantly available on the forest floor.

The art studio cottage.

Andrea’s lovely, witty mother in law put me up in the old art studio cottage on the property. After a rowboat tour around the harbor from my fabulous host, I spent the evening dining on delicious homemade lasagna, salad, bread, and wine together with the family. Their warmth put me at ease, and I felt comfortable in an even deeper way than before. After dinner, we ended the night with a kind of cozy adult crafting session, talking about differences between Norway and the U.S., with all the ladies multitasking at various art projects and grazing on licorice and chips. Using the little girls’ pencils and markers, I drew this picture from a photo taken earlier in the evening, which I left as a gift for the family to thank them for hosting me. 

The adventure continues. My tiny pinecone tender lingers in my coat pocket, still available to touch, as do these warm, fond memories of Norway.

We Are Our Best Choices

As I stood outside the lodge’s mountain-facing edge, it was clear that the fence was shuttered with a strap and lock. I walked towards the river, around the perimeter of the building, and I saw: an empty gravel lot. An emptied pool with mineral streaks. The rushing river. A large cardboard package sitting by the lodge front door. A bunch of skis leaned up next to the front door. A bare patio. Several other buildings that also looked… empty. 

To be fair, I had received a curious message late the night before after booking my stay– which I’d only noticed while sipping a coffee on my way to the train that morning.

Here is the entire and only message I received from the lodge after my booking: 

Dear Elisabeth,

Thank you for booking your stay with us in the beautiful mountains! 

Please note that our accommodation operates on a self-service basis during the off-season.

Here's how it works:

Check-in: Upon arrival, you will check in on your own. Detailed instructions will be sent to you closer to your stay.

Beddings: You will find all necessary beddings in a designated location within the accommodation. Feel free to make yourself comfortable!

Self-Cleaning: Before departure, we kindly ask that you clean up after yourself. Cleaning supplies will be available for your use.

If this arrangement doesn’t suit your preferences, no worries! You can cancel free of charge within 48 hours of booking.

If you have any questions, please feel free to reach out to us.

Wishing you a wonderful and relaxing stay!

Best regards,

Voss Mountain Lodge

As I walked around the side of the empty lodge and other buildings, it was clear that no one else was there. Thankfully, the wifi signals were robust, and the network was open. I double checked, and no other email message had come through with additional details. I called the number on the bottom of the email. 

Thankfully, a fairly nice guy named– you guessed it– Erik, answered my call.. 

Coming down from the adrenaline rush of my unexpected hike down the mountain to an empty lodge, I was still in a bit of a heightened state. This reaction solidified into actual shock when Erik confirmed that I was alone there with no staff, that he himself was hours away, and that I was the only guest booked for the night. There would be no food service, and definitely no dogs, no pool dips, lodge hall jam session or freshly baked bread. But I could let myself into a secondary building through the side door. And the sauna was there and could be turned on with a flashlight. 

As politely but directly as possible, I explained to Erik that no further instructions had been sent to me after my initial email. That based on the listing on booking.com– where there was no mention at all of this off season scenario— this situation was not meeting my expectations. I’d paid a rate for two nights for what I thought would be the full hostel experience, and I was frustrated with this turn of events. Also, I had only a bag of peanuts with me to eat.

As the sun was beginning to dip behind the mountains. I thought of my options. The river was my thinking soundtrack as I went through a kind of bargaining in my mind with with myself while pacing on the phone with Erik. I heard myself say out loud that I would stay the night, but would like to leave the next day, rather than stay by myself under the circumstances for two days and nights as planned. Erik apologized for the lack of clarity and communications, and agreed that it was fine for me to receive a refund for the second night. We then discussed logistics. He explained that there was a different, more established train stop up the road about two miles away which might be easier to reach tomorrow with my suitcase. There was also a self service grocery store kiosk about a two mile walk away. 

So, it was settled. I would stay at the hostel alone for the night. 

The smaller building where I was staying was like a summer camp facility that smelled like it had seen some life. The sign that greeted me when I walked in the unlocked side door said:

We Are Our Choices. 

- Jean-Paul Sartre.

I turned on the sauna right away, after dropping my things in my room. I grabbed the spartan linens– the only clean ones I could see in the linen room which was otherwise a heap of dirty and soiled towels and sheets. I drank a tall glass of water in the kitchen. I stood outside in the sun and laughed and stretched, and the river rushed on, while the sauna warmed. 

Eventually, I started to feel hungry. I set off walking down the gravel drive, onto the road that followed the river. For a while, I was alone, with mountains and severe-looking pine rock bluffs on both sides. I wondered if Norway really only had 65 bears, as I’d read somewhere. Then, coming around a bend in the road, I was surprised to encounter three teenagers. I stopped to chat with them. I learned that they were on a school trip from Bergen, staying in the same mountain valley close by to the lodge. They were punchy, tired, hungry and still had yet to produce an assigned poem about the nature that they were meant to be observing. They all spoke with British accents, as many Norwegians do, since their English education came from British English speakers. They all looked very urban, and were wearing minimal clothing for the brisk temperature. 

I told them I was a writer and could probably help them with their poem if they would tell me in which direction I could find the grocery kiosk. I realized I hadn’t written down the directions there, but rather only the directions to the second train station.  

They had no clue about the kiosk, but I enjoy writing assignments and they seemed stuck. I was also glad to be in the presence of other human beings. We stood together in the road as the sky darkened with slate gray clouds. It got colder. I asked them questions about what they’d seen and their states of mind while hiking. How did this place compare to their home? What was going on within this environment, according to their senses? I recorded the questions and answers with a voice memo on my phone. Then we played it back, pulling out compelling phrases like “the naked trees” and “blood red berries.” With a pen, I peppered some lines of their responses into what they’d already written, recommended some changes, and crossed out a few of the most hackneyed rhymes and phrases. The part where they used the words “pain” and “despair” in relation to their poetry assignment should probably be toned down, I suggested. I reminded them that it didn’t have to rhyme. They expressed their gratitude, and we went our separate ways with all of our hoods up. 

This encounter did not produce a great poem, but it was a good reminder: nothing had to suck. It was all just an experience. I wasn’t going to die from being alone and a little cold and hungry in the mountain lodge, just as they weren’t going to die from being forced to write a poem in the countryside.

I walked on and eventually found my way– with the help of a Norwegian dad camping by the river with his little girl– to the kiosk where I purchased frozen fish filets, a leek, carrots, yogurt, instant coffee, and British candy. By the grace of the mountain spirits, there was already a bottle of barely-touched Sauvignon Blanc waiting for me in the lodge kitchen fridge. 

I got back as night was falling. It fell fast. I ate some pre-dinner candy (I'm a grown ass woman, afterall, and I make the rules). I took another sauna session and when I emerged, the shadows had subsumed the light. The view from all the windows was suddenly just blackness. The lodge itself, a little too dark inside for my taste, with paltry old yellow lightbulbs. There was no lock to the lodge door on the inside, only a lock on my bedroom door. A long, empty hallway extended in two directions on either side of the kitchen. It seemed like an appropriately eerie setting for an ax murderer who really wanted to make an entrance. Or a troll. This was their territory, after all. I turned on soothing music and cooked myself dinner, choosing not to look right or left. 

I ended up crawling into my room shortly after eating, when the quiet and the dark became a little too much. I locked my door, and finished a glass of wine while I typed about my experience that day and messaged with friends who comforted me with jokes and a great Norwegian comedy video about cabin life. I wanted to work on other projects, but I was really cold. I’d attempted to fire up the heat in my room as night fell but as the hours went by, the temperature barely climbed. I got into bed with all my layers on. It got colder still. I put on my hat. I remembered that friction is best for conducting heat. Layers were needed. I lay my sweater over my core, and another sheet– the only extra clean linen I’d been able to find– under the duvet. 

Finally, as midnight neared, I was starting to feel restful and close to drifting off when a disturbance cut through the natural white noise of the river. Car wheels on the gravel outside. 

I heard sounds for the next twenty minutes or so as more than a couple people entered the lodge with stomping feet. They didn’t speak to each other much, but if they had it wouldn’t have mattered because I couldn’t understand their language and my heart was beating very loudly within my duvet cave. 

When I finally worked up the bravery to emerge from my fluff cocoon and from my room I met a few of the members of a group of travelers from Poland, who seemed exhausted from driving across Norway. Thankfully, I didn’t have to interact with them much before we all crashed in our respective rooms. 

The next day was significantly colder. Again, I started off with a sauna. It began to snow as I gathered myself for the next phase. 

Here is where I give a huge shout out to the secondhand warm wear I acquired at a thrift store in Oslo, when it was still 60 degrees and sunny. Three woolen knit items: Mittens, a hat that makes me look a bit like a gnome, and long socks that went over my knees were my mountain valley saving grace. At times, they allowed for comfort, and at other times, they kept me safe. 

I was ready to get out of there and back to Oslo, so I started my journey to the other nearby train station a bit early. The snow, which began daintily, picked up in intensity as I walked. I made it about 1.5 km up the road, wheeling my suitcase on the icy pavement like an urban traveler who had been accidentally teleported. I’m sure the trolls had a good laugh about it. I got to the bottom of the hill beneath the train. This road, running alongside an aquamarine river, was gravel and went up about 200 meters. At points, there were areas of clay and gravel where I could roll the wheels for a period. The rest of the time, I carried the case. 

By the time I got to the stop– this time, complete with a parking lot and a wooden platform– I was sweating. At the mountain top, the snow was falling in wet clumps, and the wind whipping. I’d walked there with purpose, quickly, and I realized upon arriving that my plan had a flaw: the train was due in 45 minutes. And now I was really, really cold and without a winter coat. 

Thankfully, Norway is a place where adventurers are welcome and provided for. Adventurers get sweaty and might need to strip and change by the time they reach the mountaintop. And of course, there’s often snow on the mountain. So, there was a warming room right next to the train with an electric heater already running, and a table and chairs. Also, a back room full of skis. Everyone skis in Norway, and apparently they all trust one another not to mess with theirs. Some kind of adventurer's code.

Part of me knows that I surely could have been tougher, lasted longer in my mountain stay. It hasn't always been the case, but I think of myself as someone who likes to be brave and challenged. There’s certainly something to be admired about one’s ability to deal with, or embrace the results of one’s choices, no matter how imperfectly they play out. It may have been rewarding to do so. The peace and isolation of the lodge’s location might have been ripe for a tranquil hike, or a fruitful writing or painting session, though it came with extra challenges and at least a few more essential hikes. But it's also ok to have preferences, to be able to discern between the kinds of adventures that feed your soul versus deplete your energy.

Sartre also said, The best work is not what is most difficult for you, it is what you do best.

I know myself. The compounding variables and uncomfortable surprises–like the prospect of wheeling my suitcase through inches of possible snow the next day without a proper coat and only rain boots– invoked the specter of stress. As a result, my sense of alert and reactivity was much more online than my creative self, or my open self. And once that balance has been tipped? Well, then it's a bit like asking a boulder (or a dense, heavy suitcase) to roll up a mountain. Or asking a troll to tea. There’s no amount of entreaty and softening of the experience that’s going to produce a desired result.

A Norwegian friend recently reflected to me that one of my strengths seems to be being in touch with my inner self. Sometimes that can be uncomfortable. Sometimes it means really noticing how I feel, not how I wish I could feel.

We each have a voice inside us that only carries if and when we're willing to embody what it is saying. That's probably where the phrase "in-tune with yourself" comes from.

Following instinct can mean recognizing miscalculations, moving away from circumstances, and moving on towards others. On the cold mountain's edge, to warm my body as the train came around the mountain, I hummed myself a melody: the sound of the feeling of sunny Oslo calling me back.

Tranquility and Trials on the Bergensbanen

Today, I am making my way on the F4 train back to Oslo for one final stop before I head on to Sweden. This last batch of days has been full of wonderful highs (literally, my travels have included some remarkable vistas and elevations), some synchronistic experiences, as well a few profound challenges. 

A train stop on the Flåmsbana.

View from close to the top of Fløyen Mountain in Bergen.

I knew before arriving in Norway that I wanted to experience Bergen and Oslo, two distinct metropolitan centers on either side of Norway, west and east. That was where I started. Upon visiting with my cousin and his family in Kongsberg, I learned that in the expanse of land between these cities, there lies a vast territory of wilderness. With the understanding that I enjoy nature and hiking, my cousin and his wife were excited to share with me the recommendation of visiting Finse, which can only be reached by train. That was the final deciding factor for me to take the Bergensbanen. I could then enjoy the sights of Norway while writing, painting, reading, listening to music and daydreaming, and not deal with the threat of ice and snow on single-lane mountain roads. 

They also strongly recommended that I experience the Flåmsbana, a special train that travels from the Bergen line into the Aurlandsfjord.

So, in Norway I have gone “all in” on trains. 

A train is a place full of possibility.

Truth is, I’ve always been a train gal. I grew up in Westchester County, outside of New York City, and the train was always a space of contemplation and creativity. On the Metro North train into Grand Central station, I imagined my future life, I wrote poetry, I watched strangers for signs of kindness.

This is where, falling into rhythm with my surroundings, I first embraced the effect of motion on my creative practice. 

A poem written on the Metro North train, at age sixteen. Please excuse the bizarre typos. It was published like this in a collection of poems in the publication from the Bread Loaf Youth Poetry Conference, which I attended. I was pissed because I'd obsessively edited and submitted it without the random bolding and several different line breaks.

Having now ridden the Bergenbanan back and forth across Norway, I am so grateful for the efficiency, cleanliness, and relative convenience of this infrastructure. The Pluss section of the train, with its spaciousness, endless free coffee and desk tops that slide towards your seat, is a kind of poet’s oasis. Gaze out the windows at the rugged rocky mountains, the severe pine forests, clouds that seem to slide around the sky and play with the sun, water and cold. Waterfalls that gush with surprise as the train curves around an elevation. The quenching site of a crystal clear aqua river, rushing under the tracks, revealed as you exit a mountain tunnel. If you love nature, come to Norway, buy your ticket and ride ride ride. 

A view from the Bergen Line between Oslo and Finse.

But, please, research your planned stops. And maybe travel backpacking-style rather than traveling with a small suitcase. I’ll come back to that.

After leaving Finse, I had a few pleasurable, relaxing days in Bergen.  I found it to be full of contradictions. The city, with its bohemian, artistic undercurrent, has a critical mass of students, but is also a living relic of ancient Hansiac trading. It has a balanced presence of extremely old churches and decadent high end restaurants. It's full of international people who prefer to live there over any other place, but despise its weather. I witnessed local retirees sitting and drinking together in a pocket park at sunset, listening to indie rock on a bluetooth speaker.

Bergen is also infamous for its rainy weather— a local described it to me as Seattle, but worse. Meanwhile, the sun shone generously every day of my visit.

While there, I stayed on the bottom of Mount Fløyen, and took the train tram that climbs the to mountain peak.

Atop the mountain is a restaurant and shop and a wonderful forest, full of trails. There's also a school for tiny kids (sidenote: it was outrageously adorable to see these little Norwegians hiking and chatting amongst themselves in their puffy cold weather suits and hazard vests).

There are also art installations ranging from state funded/sanctioned architectural interventions and tiny cabins, to mossy spontaneous constructions next to the forest path. Oh, and there are cashmere goats lazing about like fat cats. 

An unbothered cashmere goat.

Many art installations peppered the forest and tourist recreation areas.

The wee Norwegians. Omg.

I had enjoyable experiences dining out or having a beverage at a few spots in town including the Litteraturhusset, a book store, lecture and music venue, and yes, restaurant: a compelling combo that outght to exist in every city that wishes to claim a rich culture.

My first destination was the charming Café Opera, which also becomes a nightclub and karaoke bar after dark. I ended one evening at a corner spot called Tempo Tempo that had a delightful natural wine selection. But my favorite spot in Bergen was the Folk og Røvere. It was about a block away from my Air Bnb. I wandered in on instinct after hearing Joni Mitchell's Carey playing over their outdoor speakers.

While there, I perched at the only open spot within the packed bar and was chatted up by an older gentleman, an engineer and photographer— whose work was, in fact, displayed at the Café Opera. Soon, his friends folded me into their group, consisting of one of the bar owners and his lovely wife and friends. They were extremely warm. Within about ten minutes, we discovered a Milwaukee connection with someone who I’m sure I’ve met in MKE who studied in Bergen some years ago. They lamented that I’d be leaving in the morning, saying how they would like to show me around this town that they love so well. 

Bergen watercolor study, work in progress

From Bergen, I went on to catch theThe Flåm Railway. This is a world famous train for good reason— it is a feat of engineering at 867 meters high at its apex (or nearly 2,850 ft feet) which travels down to sea level north to the head of Aurlandsfjord. 

The train has a retro feel, and there's a special surprise folded into it that I don’t want to spoil. But I will just say that I was here for it, in every way. You’ll know it when you experience it, this special expression of the magical energy of Norway. 

View from the train, pulling into Flåm.

The train ride is unreal.

I think I audibly gasped at the first major view from my side after the train made a turn.

But even more unreal, in my opinion, is the place that it delivers you to: Flåm. This is a special and quiet little berg nestled at the edge of the mountain and ocean waters that flow into the fjord. A tiny place, with an ancient feel, whose economy seems to revolve almost entirely around tourism. 

The original town center of Flåm.

When I arrived, I noticed on the map that there was a floating sauna on the far side of the harbor. I dropped my stuff off at the hostel, grabbed my hat and mittens and walked over. 

The sauna was filled with young people from far flung places. Australia. The UK. Washington D.C. These are fun moments, highlights, for me, when I find myself within these international pockets of people, all of us the adventurous sort.

We egged each other on to stay in the near-freezing waters between sauna sessions. We laughed through the pain of steam in our noses when someone added too much water too fast to the stove. We marveled from our seats at a shy baby seal, popping his little puppy head above the water a few hundred meters away. 

The coldest dip yet, in the Aurlandfjord.

Jumping off the roof of the sauna, plunging into the water, I felt a rush of pride and joy in how far I’ve come. I've gone through much heartbreak in my life, and in the wake of pain, loss, and trauma I've had to contend with the long shadows of anxiety and depression. It's been a lifelong journey to learn how to relax, take in the good and to be present. A practice, you might say.

Saunas and cold dips help. : )

There, floating alone in the dark, cold, salty water of the fjords, my hot heart working hard for me and pounding fiercely, I felt the opposite of fearful or distressed. I felt blessed, cleansed and empowered.

But my mettle was about to be tested. 

Watercolor study of Flåm, work in progress.

The Milky Way, faintly visible in the sky over my hostel.

Knowing I would need to head back to Oslo to continue on to the next leg of my European journey, I decided to milk my wilderness exploration for another two nights and days. The hostel in Flåm was fully booked the next day and the only other accommodations were well outside my price range, so, over dinner I researched other options.

I ended up somewhat spontaneously booking a nearby spot at the Voss Mountain House hostel. It’s not actually in Voss. It’s in technically in a tiny mountain town called Mjølfjell. The closest train stop, Ørneberget stasjon, is a mere 200 meters away from the lodge, which is a large factor in why I’d selected it. Actual descriptions from Booking.com reviews that influenced me:

...for those seeking total nature and unplugging from civilization, THIS is the place in Norway. Underrated, excellent value, extremely responsive, fun, kind staff with interesting conversations to be had. The breakfast was proper and Norwegian (fresh, delicious, healthy food), amazing coffee, and they mix it up with dinners from various cultures like chili con carne.

Its location is in the mountains, you just hear the river flowing. It’s really nice. - It has a swimming pool where you can cold plunge in the morning. - The staff is super welcoming and available to every demand you could have.

Staff all very friendly and accommodating. Fresh roasted coffee is delicious and all cooking was top notch. Recommend dinner and breakfast. Outstanding location for hiking/trail running or just the Flåm railway trip. I'll definitely return. Tomasz also has 3 amazing big dogs.

Known for its hearty meals and accessiblity to beautiful trails, the mountain house looked perfect. The photos showed light-filled pine interiors with a piano and guitars. Happy people and dogs in an unheated pool overlooking the mountain valley. A sauna. And incredible views of the mountains and river. This seemed like the ideal way to round out my adventure in the Vestland region. 

In retrospect, I should’ve taken note when the train agent paused at my destination as I presented my mobile ticket.

I think we can arrange that, she said. 

I asked if there was a problem, to which she said, No. just stay here.

When we arrived at the station, about a ten minute ride to the west of Myrdal, the doors opened on a brisk mountaintop. There was no platform, just the gray blue gravel stone pile that supported the train tracks. I stepped off the train with my small wheeled suitcase and giant bag, purse and backpack strapped to me, and proceeded down a few small steps. Looking at the wet and rocky trail before me, a nylon rope dangling on the side revealed the steep decline ahead. At that point, I realized: this is going to be difficult. 

The "station" is up where the dark planks are, about 200 meters up.

After making my way a few steps in my galoshes, I realized I needed to change my shoes. I tucked my suitcase between two mossy rocks and placed my giant bag behind me and put on my hiking sneakers. I could see the mountain house at a not-insignificant distance away, with its Norwegian flag flapping in the sun. Between my spot and the lodge was a slippery trail of rocks, with switchbacks in which a few planks of wet old wood suspended over a stream, and then a muddy bog-like path. But I couldn’t see all of that just yet. I could only see about twenty feet ahead, before the elevation dropped off significantly. 

This is the point at which I started talking to myself. 

When I’m stressed, I find this to be a helpful coping mechanism. Talking, or even singing to myself: I find that it can be a good way to let out nervous energy, and laughter. I’m also a verbal processor. Even while in the woods, alone. It helps my rational brain stay fully online and my body engaged. 

Wow. Ok. So, yeah. You’re just going to have to leave these things and come back for them! 

So that is what I did. Only about 75 feet into the trail, laughing to myseIf, I left my suitcase and red bag wedged between some roots and rocks, and continued on my way down the mountain, step by slippery step, wrangling the rope, and when that wasn’t available, grabbing the limber branches of young trees on either side of the trail to steady me. At one point, I slid on my butt on a small boulder because the cliff was too close for comfort.

When I finally stepped out of the muddy bog bottom portion of the trail onto some solid, spongey grassiness, I approached the lodge gate. The grounds, at a distance, seemed eerily quiet and unpopulated. Where were the smiling dogs from the pictures? Where was the guy who bakes the famous bread? I blinked a few times, unbelieving of what my eyes were telling me. The gate of the lodge was shuttered with a cable and locked. 

To be continued…